


Far Up the Shore

by Oparu



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our heroes get a surprise few days away as a Fourth of July gift. With a convertible. Written for the 2010 Olivia/Peter ficathon. (<a href="http://community.livejournal.com/op_ficathon/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/op_ficathon/"><b>op_ficathon</b></a>) For <a href="http://monkeyprincess7.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://monkeyprincess7.livejournal.com/"><b>monkeyprincess7</b></a> who wanted "sunset, a scene in the cupboard, fireworks". I hope this will work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Up the Shore

"Even FBI agents get a few days off." Olivia slips into the car next to him, smiling and relaxed in a way he rarely sees her. "Especially the Fourth of July."

"I brought beer."

She laughs, quickly, lightly, and today, just for today, he'll destroy the world himself if anyone ruins it. She has sunglasses holding up her long blond hair, and her t-shirt is baby blue. The kind of blue that early morning sky is made out of.

Lakes have a certain sense of foreboding to him, so they're bound for the ocean. No station wagon or SVU today, it's a rented convertible and the two of them have all the time in the next two days to enjoy it. He'd be nervous if he knew better, but it's hard to think past the next mile marker as they crawl up the old highway along the ocean.

They get coffee, chain store brand that all tastes the same, and switch drivers on their way up the coast. It's easy, laid back, the way their relationship never really is. They could be anyone. Friends, lovers, newlyweds...

He could lose himself in the way she smiles over her coffee. The radio in the car is lousy and tunes in and out. She's too practical to own an iPod for more than running and his...his makes her laugh. Once he agrees to sing with her, they both do, belting out old jazz standards and Sinatra duets.

He didn't think he'd ever see Olivia Dunham sing "Mack the Knife" over a paper coffee cup, but his life's more complete for it.

Lunch is sandwiches, grapes and chocolate chip cookies that got too gooey from the store to the car and the rest stop with the green picnic table.

He calls Walter, who's buried up to his waist in equipment in the lab. Astrid promised to check up on him, and since things still aren't that great between them, the conversation is short, clipped. He still says "Happy Fourth of July" and when Olivia hands him a coke, she has that sympathetic look.

They don't talk. That would ruin the escape. Olivia calls her niece and they talk about nothing for twenty miles. Listening to her laugh and talk about the kinds of things that kids really do need to talk about, like why toes go pruney in the bath and what makes fireworks fall down when fire seems to go up, Peter relaxes. He's happy. Happy in that stupid sort of way he doesn't know what to do with.

Olivia takes the endless questions in stride and answers with the calm composure she'd have with her boss. He loves that about her, almost as much as he loves her feet on the dashboard of the car or the way she knows what he likes in his coffee without asking.

Peter likes her, in a togetherness sort of way that freaks him out a little. He's not the kind of person who spends a lot of time with any one person. There's no point. People aren't the kind of thing one can trust, and he'd just about written off the concept. He doesn't stay in one place, and he definitely doesn't stay with one person.

Then he had to save the world. Which turned out to involve a no-nonsense FBI agent who's eyes are just a little too clear when she looks at him and far too hard to read when she wants them to be.

They splurge on dinner, and she teases him until he agrees to cook. Which is stupid really, who knows what the kitchen will be like or if the cabin will even have pots and pans. He does the best he can, and they buy more for one dinner than they have for the next few days, but it doesn't matter. Arguing about the right six-pack of beer to add to the two they already have instead of buying a bottle of wine, then springing for the champagne anyway, is more fun than he really deserves to have.

The sun sets on the way. First it's yellow, then orange and pink and it lights up the sky behind the hills. She's driving now so he watches the light hit the clouds a little bit less than he watches her. If she notices, she manages to hide it, or she just doesn't mind.

Peter hopes a little for the latter, but grins like an idiot anyway as they drive up the gravel towards the cabin. It crunches beneath the tires and then beneath their feet as they get out and stretch. There's more joking, more grinning like an idiot on his part and they tumbled into the cabin far less gracefully than two sober people ever should.

It doubles as an FBI safe house when it hasn't been co-opted for two people stuck with the thankless task of saving the world. Broyles really does like them after all. It doesn't even have that smell of being not lived in and they settle in fairly quickly.

Olivia makes a bottle cap appear from behind his ear and he throws together dinner easier than he thought he could. She's faster with a knife than he is, and they might just make the fireworks display after all. One beer each means they could still drive down to the city and watch them. They talk about it, then they wash dishes. They keep telling themselves they'll make it, and they stand closer and closer together.

Their hands touch underneath the soapy water and the first crack of fireworks across the water reverberates.

"Out of time."

She grins. "Oops."

He grabs the keys and they both head for the door.

"You know, we might be able to see them from upstairs."

Her suggestion sounds better than driving so they leave their jackets and head up the stairs. He thinks she's fumbling for the light switch but somehow his hands end up on her waist and then hers behind his neck. It's nothing, really. It's just dark and the touch is accidental.

He finds a knob about the same time she finds his lips and their first kiss on this side crashes them into the linen cupboard. Sheets fall down all around them but all he's thinking about is the warmth of her lips and how damn good it feels to have her body pressed against his.

More fireworks, but these are closer.

She finds the light switch, and she's flushed as she tugs him towards the bedroom. It has to be this door.

He likes that pink in her cheeks. Peter can't help wondering if it runs all the way down. He teases up her t-shirt and she grabs his jeans.

Fireworks pop and burst without them, and even once it's silent outside, neither of them pays anything but each other the least bit of attention. 


End file.
